


Since We've No Place To Go

by elegantstupidity



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Clarke Griffin, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Pining, Teacher Bellamy Blake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-08 11:46:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8843491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elegantstupidity/pseuds/elegantstupidity
Summary: Single Clarke puts her spare room on Airbnb for the holidays. Cue the most ridiculous parade of attractive people in and out of her apartment.Meanwhile, Bellamy keeps getting mysterious gifts from someone at work.They’re each basically living out their own romantic comedy. Too bad they’re more interested in each other than following the script.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thelightreflects.tumblr.com](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=thelightreflects.tumblr.com).



> Happy Holidays to thelightreflects over on tumblr! I hope this was festive enough for you!

Bellamy had always assumed that if his life devolved into some kind of romantic comedy, it would involve Clarke.

 

Well. He'd never had cause to consider such a scenario, but if he had, that definitely would've been his assumption. And it would've been a safe one.

 

After all, he'd been in love with her since he was 25, and he was pushing 30 now. He'd been doing it so long, it was just another fact of his life. He taught high school history, had a sister, was in love with Clarke. Loving Clarke wasn't a problem, it just _was_.

 

At least this wasn't one of those "I'm in love with a girl who doesn't even know I exist" situations. Clarke was his best friend. Of course she knew he existed.

 

It'd been nearly five years, and Bellamy still hadn't worked out if that made things better or worse.

 

But, yeah. If his life started filling up with tropes straight out of Nora Ephron movies, it would have been a safe bet that it had something do with Clarke.

 

(Not because he thought she was secretly in love with him—Clarke didn’t do well with secrets—but because he figured he’d eventually start losing his mind and begin self-sabotaging. Grand, romantic gestures weren't really in his wheelhouse, but who knew what desperation might do to him.)

 

Which was why Bellamy didn't know what to do when it looked like he might have a secret admirer. He almost didn't even  _realize_ he might have a secret admirer.

 

When he received the first note, he didn't register its significance and nearly threw it away.

 

In all fairness, it was tucked under a pile of junk that he had moved a few days ago. The pile had moved to the top of his filing cabinet first because his garbage can was full, but he also didn't have room anywhere on his desk. It then stayed there because he forgot all about it. What? He had other things to do, like broadening the horizons of the future leaders of America or something. Today, though, after three of those future leaders teased him for hoarding, he finally remembered to trash it.

 

He only noticed the corner of the envelope because the vibrant red paper stood out so starkly against the mostly plain white brochures. Curiously, he plucked it out and tried to make sense of it, but came up short.

 

The front of the envelope simply read, “ _To Mr. Blake, From Anonymous_.” which did not help Bellamy at all.

 

He opened it, and inside was a ten dollar gift certificate to his favorite coffee shop.

 

Bellamy double-checked the date on his phone. December 3rd. Just as he’d thought. Well, at least this wasn’t some weird Valentine’s Day thing.

 

Thankfully, school was over and he could go and agonize over this weirdness in private.

 

Well, mostly private. He had to tell Clarke, of course. Because he told Clarke everything. He did most things with her, too. She wouldn't mind if he came over and spiraled a little. She'd pet his hair in a good imitation of sympathy while telling him exactly how ridiculous he was being. Somehow, it'd still make him feel better.

 

It was one of the things he loved about her.

 

He stumbled into her apartment and followed the clatter of dishes to his quarry.

 

“What does it mean when you get an envelope with a gift certificate in it?”

 

“Hi, Bellamy. Come on in, Bellamy,” Clarke greeted. Both she and her kitchen counters were covered in a fine dusting of flour. She had one arm wrapped around a mixing bowl, the other struggling to stir the contents. Bellamy was positive nothing good should take quite that much effort.

 

“You gave me a key. You can’t complain when I let myself in.”

 

“Of course I can,” she argued back, logical and contrary as ever. "It’s just confusing when I do.”

 

“Point.”

 

“So what’s this about a gift certificate? I assume you’re familiar with the ritual of gift-giving, but I can probably explain it if you need.”

 

Bellamy sighed and dug the cause of his outburst out of his coat pocket. “I found this envelope in my classroom. And all it had inside was a gift certificate to Luna’s.”

 

Clarke hummed and set the bowl down on the counter. She leaned in to inspect the envelope, not that there were many clues to glean. “And you don’t recognize the handwriting? No idea who might have given this to you?”

 

In all honesty, Bellamy had skipped straight over the _who_ of the matter and gone straight for the _what the fuck?_ But Clarke raised an excellent point.

 

“Oh, god. What if it’s a student?”

 

Clarke rolled with the intuitive leap. “You told me students give you gifts all the time.”

 

“Yeah, at the end of the year or the last day before Winter Break. And then it’s gift cards to Starbucks or Barnes and Noble. Not my favorite coffee shop which I haven’t told anyone about so I won’t have to do the awkward ‘seeing a teacher outside of school thing.’”

 

“I’m sure Luna appreciates your loyalty,” Clarke mused dryly.

 

Bellamy ignored her. "I can’t handle being someone’s inappropriate crush."

 

“Bellamy, I can guarantee you that more than one of your students have an inappropriate crush on you."

 

“What?”

 

Clarke ignored him, peering into her bowl as she prodded doubtfully at the lump inside with her spoon. “And, I mean. How inappropriate is it, really? It’s not like they gave you handcuffs or edible underwear. Unless there’s something you haven’t told me?”

 

“What? No! Jesus, Clarke, they’re kids.”

 

“It’s _maybe_ a kid. It could be another teacher, though. Or support staff. It’s not as though public schools are Fort Knox. Anyone could have left that for you,” she pointed out reasonably. Which only made Bellamy wonder why she was so willing to widen the pool of potential suspects. Still, he nodded his agreement and she beamed and immediately changed the subject. “Is cookie dough supposed to look like this?”

 

So that’s what she was making. No, it definitely wasn’t. “Probably not. How’s it taste?”

 

“I’m scared to find out.”

 

Gamely, Bellamy swiped a finger along the edge of the bowl and bit the figurative bullet. Though with Clarke's culinary adventures, it was sometimes hard to tell. He contemplated the taste for a few moments and shrugged. Clarke’s face lit up and she scooped a generous dollop of dough into her mouth. As soon as it hit her tongue, though, her face crumpled in disgust. Bellamy howled in laughter as Clarke whirled and spat into the sink.

 

“You are not a good friend,” she accused, scrubbing her tongue with a paper towel. That Bellamy could still understand her was probably a sign that he was in way over his head. Well, it could join the list.

 

“I’m an excellent friend,” he countered. “Mostly because I let you learn from your mistakes on your own. It’s called being a good teacher, Clarke.”

 

She waved him off and began scraping her failed cookie dough into the trash can.

 

“Why are you trying to bake, again? Didn’t last Easter teach you anything?”

 

Clarke pouted and Bellamy struggled not to melt. How had he managed to fall for this disaster of a human?

 

“I’m preparing for my first guest.”

 

“Guest? Is Wells coming to visit?”

 

“No, I put my spare room on Airbnb, remember?”

 

“Clarke, you didn’t,” he groaned.

 

Bellamy had been against this plan from the get go. When Clarke’s last roommate moved out, they’d all been glad enough to see the back of her. Ontari was one of the only people that had legitimately terrified Bellamy. He tended to save his terror for government entities like Child Protective Services and the IRS.

 

But Ontari had been a force unto herself. 

 

When Ontari left, Clarke had, rightfully, been wary of finding another roommate on craigslist. Her landlord had given her a break on the rent for a few months, but she had to start paying full price again soon. Rather than deal with a full time roommate, though, Clarke had settled on turning her spare room into a revolving door of strangers.

 

Like nothing could go wrong with that plan.

 

“No one is going to murder me, Bellamy,” Clarke sighed with an eye roll for emphasis.

 

“If you make them eat your baked goods they might,” he muttered. She leveled him with a sardonic glare, but at least stopped gathering more baking supplies.

 

“That was rude.”

 

Bellamy shrugged. If she hadn’t caught on in five years, that was hardly his fault.

 

“I just want them to like me enough to give the room a good rating. Then I can probably start charging more and build up enough of a nest egg to avoid another roommate disaster. Or just to actually _have_ savings. Life is hard for the starving artist, Bellamy," she informed him primly. 

 

Thankfully, Clarke was nowhere near starving, particularly for a freelance artist. If there'd ever been any danger of that, Bellamy would have moved in with her himself to keep her solvent. And that would probably have ended in disaster. Sharing space with her without getting to share so many of the things he wanted. No. Better to maintain their boundaries. Such as they were when Bellamy spent the majority of his free time in her company, anyway.

 

“And you didn’t think about just, I don’t know, being yourself?”

 

Clarke leveled him with an unimpressed stare. “Be myself? Have you met me, Bellamy? You know how long I take to warm up to people. I am not exactly the kind of warm and fuzzy personality that most people expect to build an Airbnb empire.”

 

And he loved her anyway. 

 

“Empire?” he asked instead. “You and your one room?”

 

Clarke sniffed and started putting her baking supplies away. Bellamy knew that before he left, he’d have to steal them or she’d try again, but it wasn’t like he didn’t know exactly how she organized her kitchen.

 

“All empires start somewhere.” She shrugged and went off to dig out her Christmas decorations.

 

* * *

 

The second gift showed up just as Clarke’s third guest was supposed to leave. 

 

It wasn’t that Bellamy started spending more time at Clarke’s after her first guest showed up, but that said more about how much time he already spent at Clarke’s apartment than his level of concern. 

 

And, okay. He’d accepted that it seemed unlikely, though not impossible, that one of her guests would kill her. But he still wasn’t about to leave them alone with her any more than he had to. 

 

Because these guests. They were hot. 

 

Like unfairly, unreasonably hot. 

 

The first guest was actually two, but they arrived together. Girlfriends who’d come into town for a wedding, but hadn’t wanted to shell out the $300 a night to stay at the hotel with the other guests. They were nice enough, if slightly terrifying. Bellamy suddenly understood the origin of the phrase "intimidatingly hot." Anya and Indra fit the mold to a T, with an emphasis on the intimidating. Thankfully, they only stayed a few days, so Bellamy didn’t have too much time to start worrying about them. Aside from the honest-to-god butterfly knife he saw Anya pull at one point. He was glad to see the back of them. Even if he worried for airport security when someone inevitably tried to tell them they couldn't travel with weapons.

 

It would be just his luck for Clarke to decide that these were her people now, pack up, and leave him. 

 

“I wonder what kind of wedding someone like that gets invited to,” Clarke had mused after they left. Bellamy was helping her tidy up for the next guest who was due in two days. If he didn’t now, he was sure he’d end up doing it in the hours before their arrival. What made Clarke, one of the least domestic people he knew, decide to host people for what was essentially the holiday season was still a mystery, financial compensation not included. “Are they outliers or abnormally average?”

 

Bellamy snorted and shoved the bedding into the washing machine. When he turned around, his eye caught on the bright sprig of green dangling above Clarke’s head in the door between the living room and the kitchen.

 

“You put up mistletoe?” he choked out, completely ignoring her question.

 

Clarke glanced up and shrugged. “Yeah. It was in the box of Christmas stuff, so I figured why not?” Before Bellamy could figure out whether or not this was an opening, she moved, heading towards the kitchen. “It did catch Anya and Indra a couple times. I thought they were going to leave each other all cut up, and not just because I'm pretty sure they both carried knives. Who does that? How does anyone let them on planes?”

 

The second guest might as well have been an alien for all he looked like an actual human being. 

 

People didn’t just look like that in real life. They only existed in magazines and movies, and that was after a liberal dosing of post-production editing.

 

And yet, Roan still showed up at Clarke’s door a week into December, only fashionably disheveled after what he said was a ten-hour flight. 

 

Bellamy wouldn’t have been surprised to find out he was a model with his flawless, bronze skin and the smoldering gaze he'd perfected, but he never actually learned. He hardly saw Roan at all before he was gone again. Clarke didn’t seem to mind, though, and Bellamy made sure not to bring the other man up. Better not to bring up Fabio's much hotter, much younger brother more than was strictly necessary.

 

It was one thing, after all, to acknowledge that the woman he was in unrequited love with was playing host to the most objectively beautiful person he’d ever met, and another to _talk_  about it.

 

The third visitor, though, caused monumentally more worry for all she seemed far less intimidating than the first two.

 

To his endless frustration, Bellamy never got a straight answer about why Niylah was in town. Every time he showed up at Clarke’s, it seemed like Niylah had just left, though he did get a chance to meet her once. This was three days into her stay. He’d walked in and was greeted by ringing laughter. Following the sounds, he’d caught sight of Clarke and another stunning blonde curled up on the couch, apparently working their way through a pile of Christmas movies. 

 

Clarke performed introductions, practically beaming at the pretty girl in favor of actually greeting Bellamy. Not that Clarke usually greeted Bellamy in the formal sense. _Still, it would be nice to at least be acknowledged_ , he’d thought grumpily. Because it was rude. Not because he wanted Clarke to smile at him like that. 

 

Anyway, they were more than happy to make room for him on the couch, moving their feet from the middle cushion, but Bellamy kept wondering if he wasn’t intruding based on the soft, semi-secret smiles on Clarke’s face.

 

Because, based almost solely on Clarke’s descriptions and stories, Niylah seemed exactly like her type. And he knew Clarke’s type better than almost anyone. 

 

For one, Niylah apparently had no trouble keeping up with Clarke. This assessment was based purely on Clarke's testimony, but it wasn't as if she knew that Bellamy was cataloguing this kind of information. Anyway, Clarke was one of the smartest people he knew, and he knew Raven Reyes. It took a certain amount of guts to match wits with Clarke Griffin. Every time he came over, Clarke had a new story about her guest’s wit and charm, making Bellamy surlier than usual. 

 

His best friend usually tried to mend matters with another story about the hilarious things she and Niylah had done, which didn't particularly help matters. 

 

Still, Bellamy had to like how much Clarke was smiling. She deserved some light and laughter, especially after a few hard years. 

 

Which led to point two: Niylah kept Clarke from taking herself too seriously. 

 

The major failing of Clarke’s exes—not that Bellamy kept an official list or anything—was that they tended to inflate her sense of ego. (And it wasn’t _they_ so much as it was Lexa. Bellamy could write dissertations on what had gone wrong between Clarke and Lexa, and Clarke might even agree with him on about half his points, so it was kind of like beating a dead horse.) If they weren’t careful, she was likely to get too big for her britches and go out and make some truly inadvisable decisions.

 

Clarke needed help staying humble. 

 

(What? Bellamy was in love, not oblivious.)

 

Niylah didn’t appear to have a problem on that front.

 

A few days into her stay, Bellamy had walked into the apartment only to find Clarke collapsed in a fit of giggles as she trimmed the tiny, sad-looking tree that had taken up residence on her coffee table. (Niylah’s idea, though she was nowhere to be found. The woman had Christmas spirit to rival Buddy the elf.) The blonde was strewn with strings of crinkled tinsel. Stuck to Clarke’s nose was a round, blinking, red bulb and felt antlers poked up from the headband perched in her golden hair. 

 

“Well, hey, Rudolph,” he said because what else was there to say?

 

She untangled herself from the loop of twinkle lights and bounded up to his side, throwing her arms around his neck. 

 

“Bellamy!” she cheered, pulling away just enough to smack a kiss against his cheek. 

 

“Whoa,” he rocked back as he caught a whiff of her breath. “Jesus, what have you been drinking?”

 

“We were taste testing eggnog cocktails! Come try the winner!”

 

She tugged him into the kitchen and Bellamy tried to ignore the pang in his chest at what kind of sunny smiles she was sending Niylah before he even got there.

 

For three, Niylah was stunning, even if Bellamy had yet to see her wearing something that didn’t belong at an Ugly Christmas Sweater Party. To be fair, his data set only included one point of information, so it was entirely possible the woman wore decent clothes. Even if Niylah’s sweater seemed entirely unironic. 

 

He’d made a dickish comment about it after seeing Clarke’s fourth fleeting smile in half an hour. What? It was hard to concentrate on _Meet Me In St. Louis_  when the girl he was in love with kept smiling at another girl. 

 

Clarke kicked his thigh and frowned pointedly, but Niylah just grinned and thanked him as if it'd been a sincere compliment. Smiling, she was even prettier than he'd first thought, cheeks flushed a rosy pink and hazel eyes sparkling. 

 

Obviously, it wasn’t as if Clarke was shallow, but Bellamy could admit she’d always been a sucker for a pretty face. Why else would she have dated Finn?

 

And Bellamy didn’t miss the evaluative way Clarke watched her guest. Clarke knew just how pretty Niylah was, so it wasn’t as if he was wrong for including it in his own scoring guide.

 

That these were three qualities that Bellamy thought would make him an excellent candidate for Clarke’s affections was neither here nor there. 

 

Either way, Bellamy was finally beginning to let himself relax when the second gift showed up. Niylah was supposed to be leaving today and there were only four days left until Winter Break. Then, he’d have two interrupted weeks to hang out at home, catch up with his sister and friends, and make sure that Clarke’s Airbnb guests continued to not murder her. Two weeks where he didn’t have to think about the lovable hooligans he called students. 

 

Everything was coming up Bellamy. 

 

Or, it was until he caught sight of the plain red box sitting on his desk labelled, “ _To: Mr. Blake, From: Anonymous.”_

 

He opened it, took one look at the object inside and rushed out of his classroom, hardly taking the time to grab his coat and briefcase as he went.

 

“Clarke!” he called, slamming the door shut behind him. 

 

Where else was he going to go in such a hurry, really?

 

“Kitchen!”

 

He hurried in, mysterious box held gingerly in front of him like it might possibly explode.

 

The sight he was greeted by, though, seemed infinitely worse. It felt like some sick, twisted version of déjà vu.

 

Because there's Clarke, covered in flour again, lit up with delight. Bellamy felt like he'd just gotten the wind not knocked out of him. Not just because of the fresh reminder that Clarke was one of the most beautiful people he'd ever seen, although that was certainly true. It was the fact that she'd never looked at Bellamy like this. It was Niylah who'd inspired the wide grin and glittering eyes. 

 

The two women were huddled around something on Clarke's peninsula. As he drew closer, Bellamy was treated to the sight of a truly impressive gingerbread house, although gingerbread  _castle_ might have been more apt. It really was ridiculous. The kind of thing that Martha Stewart would have on display.

 

“Don’t let her convince you to eat that,” he warned before wondering if he should be a better wingman. The thought stung, but really, all he wanted was for Clarke to be happy. 

 

"No worries. I made the gingerbread. Clarke decorated."

 

"We're the Christmas dream team over here," Clarke grinned, first at Niylah and then at Bellamy. Like an afterthought. 

 

Bellamy responded with a brittle smile of his own. Clarke's dropped just an inch, but he was already looking away. It was just Niylah who took in each reaction and did something about it. 

 

"This is good timing because I actually have to go," she announced, checking her watch. Niylah jerked her thumb at Clarke and smiled conspiratorially at Bellamy. He did his best not to stare stonily back. "I'd hate to leave this one unsupervised."  She gave Clarke a significant look and Clarke actually blushed and looked down. Bellamy could only watch in confused apprehension. Clarke never blushed, didn't seem capable of embarrassment.

 

Unless it wasn't embarrassment. 

 

Niylah could not be leaving soon enough. 

 

"So, what's up?" Clarke asked as Niylah whirled out the door. Bellamy shook himself and handed the gift box over to Clarke, who took it with a wry smile. "You know we still have two weeks to Christmas, right?"

 

"It's not for you," he replied shortly, already on edge. 

 

"Oh."

 

"I found it on my desk. Again. Look at it!" Bellamy was aware that he was probably blowing this out of proportion, but it was better to freak out about something that had to do with him rather than Clarke and Niylah. Probably. It was probably better.

 

Clarke peered at him for a minute before looking down at the box in her hands. Finally, she set it down and opened it. When she saw what was inside, she totally froze up and Bellamy suddenly felt validated. It was weird! Even Clarke agreed. 

 

“Semper Ubi Sub Ubi,” she read as she lifted the coffee mug from the box. Something uncertain twisted up her brow as she stared at the gift in stunned silence. Finally, she looked up at him, and breathed, "You love that pun."

 

"I know!" he shouted. Clarke raised a pointed eyebrow and he grimaced in apology. Keeping a better control over his volume, he continued, "I would like to know how they know."

 

"It's not a very uncommon joke, Bell," she pointed out, but frowned all the same. Of course she had to be reasonable. "Your secret admirer seems perfect for you. Seems like they know you pretty well already."

 

He sighed. "I know. First the gift card for Luna's and now this. I just want to know who it is."

 

Clarke was silent for a few moments. When he looked up at her again, she was studying him pensively. Bellamy smiled, hoping to show that she didn't need to worry about him. Thankfully, her expression cleared and a wicked grin lit up her face.

 

Yeah. She was really going to be the death of him.

 

"Hey, it could be worse," she teased before turning to start cleaning up the carnage involved in constructing an actual castle out of gingerbread. Since Clarke had been involved, Bellamy was sure it was worse than it could have been. It was strange. Her workspace was abnormally well organized, but the minute she was released into a kitchen, disaster was only a heartbeat away. As she filled up the sink with sudsy water, Bellamy stepped up to her side with a clean towel to dry. She playfully jostled him with her elbow as she got to work scrubbing pans. "You could have a secret admirer who gave you shitty tokens of their affections. Like a half empty pack of gum or the discography of Hoobastank."

 

"I guess," he agreed, scrubbing a hand over his face and into his hair. "I just haven't been able to stop thinking about this."

 

Clarke looked up sharply at that. Her eyes narrowed a little as she inspected him. "You haven't?" 

 

"No!"

 

"You just," she looked down at her hands, covered with suds and pruning from the water, "you haven't mentioned it at all."

 

He hadn't. The mystery of the anonymous gift giver had been taking up a certain amount of his brain power, but it was nothing to his concern over how Clarke might feel once Niylah left for good. When Clarke developed feelings, she tended to fall hard. Logical and realistic as she was, even Clarke Griffin couldn't always control the way she felt. How couldn't he worry about her? 

 

Not that Bellamy was about to tell her any of that. He'd gotten pretty good at this whole "unrequited love" thing. 

 

"I figured I'd wait until you didn't have any guests to entertain," he told her, which wasn't a total lie. Then, as if he didn't already know the answer down to the minute, he asked, "When's that going to be again?"

 

Except, of course, Clarke had to go and throw him for a loop.

 

“Oh, Niylah’s Christmas plans fell through and no one booked the room after her. Shockingly, not a lot of people want to stay with strangers over the holidays.” Clarke grinned and Bellamy smiled helplessly back. “Anyway, I told her she’d be welcome to stay if she wanted, and she took me up on the offer.”

 

The smile wanted to slide straight off Bellamy’s face. 

 

It would be easy to panic at that point. Panic at the thought that Niylah might never leave. That Clarke may have found  _the one_ in the most ridiculous way possible. He could just see the Lifetime movie they'd write about it. _Airbnb Amour_. And Bellamy would have to watch, both in real life and on TV because that's what people did when they knew the actual subject of a Lifetime movie. It would be terrible. But Clarke would be so happy.

 

Okay, he might be spiraling. Bellamy hoped his face hadn't done anything weird. Clarke wasn't looking at him with any concern, so he assumed it hadn't, but she could be oblivious to some things. 

 

Like him being in love with her.

 

Mechanically, he started drying dishes again. "Oh. Uh, she doesn't have any family she wants to spend time with?

 

Clarke shot him a surprised look. "You of all people should understand people with family issues, Bellamy."

 

He shrugged in response and pretended his drying duties required all his attention. 

 

It seemed suspicious. And not just because there was still a part of his brain that was convinced one of Clarke’s temporary tenants would murder her. There was, but that wasn't what was suspicious. 

 

He was Clarke's best friend. He had a right to be suspicious of anyone who might, potentially, want to date her.

 , though, if anyone deserved some kind of Christmas love connection, it was Clarke. She did so much for the people she loved, it would be nice if she got something in return. 

 

Bellamy tried to focus on the rhythmic ease of drying dishes. It helped him ignore the pangs of regret.

 

* * *

 

In the following two weeks, Bellamy received no new gifts. Which was good because most of those two weeks, he was on vacation. If his unknown gift-giver was following him to his apartment, then he really had to start worrying. 

 

Clarke brought it up a few times, but he usually brushed it off. He didn't want to start her worrying. Sometimes, she looked like she wanted to argue or say something, but she only pushed the matter once. 

 

They were watching  _The Holiday_ , eating a batch of Christmas cookies Niylah had left on the counter. Suspicious as he was, Bellamy could admit she made a mean cookie. As Jack Black charmed Kate Winslet, Clarke turned to him and said, "Have you thought about what you're going to do when you find out who's been leaving you those gifts?"

 

Bellamy bit the head off a frosted Santa and thought for a moment. "Not really. Why?

 

"It's just. They seem to know you so well. You have to admit those presents were pretty perfect. Maybe you should consider..." Clarke broke off and sighed. 

 

"Consider what?"

 

"That this person might be good for you."

 

Where the hell was _that_ coming from? Had she finally figured him out? Was this some kind of subtle, gentle way of letting him down easy? Well, it certainly wasn't necessary. "We still don't know that they're an adult. It could be a student."

 

"What kind of student gives a teacher a mug with a pun about underwear?" she huffed, apparently more invested in this situation than Bellamy had thought.

 

"Kids are fucking weird, Clarke. We've been over this."

 

She rolled her eyes but acknowledged the point. "Still," she continued. "I don't think it's a kid."

 

"I hope not. Otherwise I have to tell Jaha about receiving inappropriate gifts from students and that's a conversation I'm really hoping to avoid," he replied. Clarke's smile was small, but present. She knew Thelonious Jaha and all about Bellamy's aggressive indifference towards the man.

 

Clarke nodded and settled back in, dropping the matter. Good. Just in time to catch Jude Law charming Cameron Diaz. 

 

Of course, because she was Clarke Griffin, the issue didn't really end there. 

 

Bellamy was walking the plate, populated now only by cookie crumbs, back to the kitchen when Clarke tugged gently on his elbow. He turned to look at her, raising a silent eyebrow in question. 

 

"If you don't want to date anyone, that's fine, but you've been single so long. You deserve someone who makes you happy. You know I just want you to be happy, right?" she asked, real worry lighting up his eyes.

 

"You'd be a pretty shitty friend if you didn't," he deflected dryly. 

 

Clarke's mouth twisted and the worry faded away. Just not as much as he'd like. "Yeah," she joked, "that's me. Shitty friend."

 

He grinned, but she still seemed worried. "You know that I'm okay being single, right?" 

 

Her lips quirked in a sad approximation of a smile and she nodded. Bellamy knew she didn't quite believe him, but would drop it anyway.

 

She let go of his elbow, but before he could escape, her gaze flicked up. Suddenly, he became aware of exactly where he was standing. Well, aside from halfway into her kitchen. He was under the mistletoe. Bellamy kept his gaze focused on Clarke, didn't acknowledge the sprig of greenery dangling over his head. 

 

The first, and possibly last, time he kissed Clarke Griffin, it couldn't be because of a stupid tradition. It couldn't come just after she essentially told him to be happy with someone else. It just couldn't. 

 

So, he'd stepped into the kitchen and out of danger. 

 

If he missed the way Clarke's face fell, well, she missed the way the muscle in his jaw ticked in frustration, too. 

 

Which was probably why neither of them brought up the gifts again. At least, not until Christmas Eve. 

 

Why the staff Christmas party had to take place on Christmas Eve, a day that a lot of people enjoyed spending with their families, Bellamy would never understand. But, Principal Jaha was nothing if not a stickler for both tradition and mandatory attendance. At least there was free booze and Jaha didn't stoop to hosting from the faculty lounge. 

 

No, Bellamy was hovering in a corner, drinking his mulled hard cider and counting down the minutes until he could safely leave. 

 

He should have brought Clarke. She would have made this gathering infinitely more enjoyable, which was saying more about Bellamy's feelings for Clarke than his apathy to forced quality time with his coworkers. 

 

Speaking of coworkers. 

 

"Hey, Bellamy," Gina said, sidling over with her own cup of cider. "How'd I know I was going to find you lurking in the shadows?"

 

He snorted. "I'm not lurking. I'm avoiding another conversation with Byrne."

 

"Ah, of course."

 

"No Raven tonight?" he asked with a grin. It only widened when Gina flushed. 

 

Gina was one of the few coworkers that he actually liked, and not just because of the lowkey crush Raven was nursing. She was blessedly normal, which was a rare find in high school teachers. Or maybe just their school. Not all high schools could be like this. 

 

"No," she murmured, the blush still high on her cheeks. "We're getting together later in the week though. No Clarke?"

 

It was Bellamy's turn to flush. It wasn't that he was surprised, even if he didn't know Gina  _that_ well. Most people figured him out pretty quickly. Pretty much everyone, actually. Except Clarke. 

 

Didn't mean he had to own up to it, though. "Don't know what you're talking about," he mumbled into his cup. 

 

Gina just grinned. "You know, she was really helpful with the whole Secret Santa thing."

 

Individually, Bellamy knew all of the words she'd just said, but put together, he couldn't quite figure out what they had to do with him. 

 

"Huh?" he asked, ever eloquent.

 

"Oh, did I ruin the surprise? I figured Clarke already told you," she asked in mild alarm. 

 

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

 

Gina sighed. "I was your Secret Santa, Bellamy."

 

"Secret Santa? I didn't sign up for that." True. Bellamy did his best to avoid anything that would require him to interact with his fellow teachers. Judging by the look on Gina's face, though, maybe he didn't have a choice in the matter. "Jaha signed everyone up, didn't he?"

 

"Got it in one. Do you never check your mailbox? That's where all the assignments were."

 

That would explain some things. As a Blake, his mail cubby was right next to the door to Jaha's office. No matter how quietly he tried to get his mail, or how he tried to time it, it seemed like Principal Jaha always caught him in the act and wrangled him into a fifteen minute conversation. It had been weeks since he last picked up his mail. 

 

But Bellamy's mind was stuck on something else. 

 

"What did Clarke have to do with this, again?"

 

Gina just laughed. "She gave me some ideas for what to give you. Actually, she just told me what to get. It was great, I didn't have to do any work."

 

Of course she did. Who else, aside from maybe Octavia, knew him as well as she did? Just Clarke.

 

Clarke, who'd basically told him that he should consider dating whoever was leaving him these gifts. Only was she talking about Gina?

 

Or herself. 

 

This wouldn't be the first time that Bellamy got his hopes up about Clarke. It happened every so often when Clarke went through particularly affectionate spells. He'd mostly learned to temper his expectations. So much so that he'd never given it much actual thought. 

 

He was now. 

 

Was her concern about him being happy or him being happy with someone else? 

 

Were they really doing this to themselves? 

 

With barely a goodbye to Gina, not that she seemed to mind if her satisfied smirk was any clue, Bellamy was out the door and on his way to Clarke. Almost before he knew it, he was standing at her apartment's door, pounding furiously. 

  

"I hear you," he heard her mutter on the other side. "Jesus, I'm coming." And then the door opened and—

 

There she was, freshly showered and already dressed in pajamas. Her damp hair curled on her shoulders and her cheeks were still flushed from the warmth of the steam. 

 

"Bellamy?" she asked, shock coloring her voice. "You never knock."

 

"Can I come in?" he asked, voice rough. Not surprising, considering the fact he'd practically sprinted up the stairs. It felt like his heart wanted to jackhammer out of his chest, though he had a sneaking suspicion that had nothing to do with his recent exertion. Just looking at her, he felt the hope rise up in his chest again. 

 

God, she was beautiful. 

 

"Of course," Clarke said, shaking herself and stepping back. She checked the hallway before closing the door. "What are you doing here? Did Jaha release you early?"

 

"Did you know Gina was my Secret Santa?" he asked rather than answering. 

 

"Secret Santa?" she repeated, at least a little stunned. But not about Gina's involvement. "Is that what the gifts were for?"

 

"Yeah. Apparently Jaha doesn't believe in voluntary participation." She smiled, but didn't say anything. Bellamy sighed and asked the question he really wanted the answer to. "Why didn't you tell me the gifts were from Gina?"

 

Clarke shifted uneasily. She rubbed her upper arm. "She said it was a surprise. I thought she just wanted to keep you on your toes."

 

"Why would Gina be keeping me on my toes?" Seriously, where was she getting these ideas?

 

From the station she'd taken up near the door into her kitchen, Clarke gave him her best unimpressed stare. She'd spent a significant portion of her life perfecting it. When Bellamy just stared back, completely at a loss, she looked away, frown pulling her brows together. 

 

"You like Gina," she said, slow and obvious. 

 

"Well, yeah. She's the only person I work with who's semi-normal."

 

Clarke huffed and shook her head in frustration. As if Bellamy was being dense on purpose. "No. You  _like_ Gina."

 

"What? No, I don't."

 

"Yes, you do," she sighed, utterly long-suffering. Because he was looking, and because he knew her so well, Bellamy saw more than that. He saw how sad she looked, and perversely, it made him happy. That hope in his chest didn't feel quite so unrealistic, now.

 

Bellamy took a deliberate step towards her. Her eyes flicked up to him, widening as he kept advancing. "No, he repeated. "I don't."

 

A few more steps and he had Clarke practically pressed against the door jamb. 

 

She swallowed, her gaze flitting between his eyes and his lips, and that sealed it for him. "So, who  _do_ you like?"

 

"Do you really need to ask?" He was so close. Bellamy could smell her shampoo, her body wash, even the minty chill of her toothpaste. God, he didn't know what he'd do if she asked him to step away. Probably dream about this for the rest of his life. 

 

"Bellamy, please," she breathed.

 

"You, Clarke. It's you."

 

Immediately, she surged forward, her lips slanting against his. Her hands were warm and soft where they cradled his jaw, but the way she sighed into his mouth was so much better. His own hands closed around her waist and he hardly had to exert any pressure to urge her closer. She stepped into him and her body pressing against his was more than anything he could have asked for. 

 

When they parted, it felt like a mutual decision. Bellamy leaned down to keep his forehead pressed against hers, and Clarke's nose kept brushing against his.

 

"I knew Niylah was right about keeping the mistletoe up."

 

Bellamy laughed, glancing up. Sure enough, the sprig of greenery still hung from the door frame just over their heads. 

 

"Niylah, huh?"

 

"She said I was bound to catch you under it at some point."

 

"So you and she aren't...?" he trailed off.

 

"Bellamy, do I need to kiss you again to convince you that you're the one I want?"

 

"Well, when you put it like that," he drawled. "Definitely."

 

Clarke's laughter rang out until he cut her off with another kiss.

 

* * *

  

Later, they cuddled on the couch, after Bellamy had convinced himself that he wasn't dreaming. He had his arms wrapped around Clarke and she leaned comfortably against him. 

 

"Oh!" she started upright and snagged a small, wrapped package off the pile on her coffee table. Shaking the loose needles shed from her sad, little tree, Clarke presented the gift to Bellamy with a flourish. 

 

"Didn't you already give me a gift?" 

 

"Those were from Gina," she replied waving him off. That wasn't what he was talking about, but he didn't need to tell her that. 

 

Bellamy tore into the paper to reveal a pack of gum taped to a Hoobastank's  _The Greatest Hits_. He looked at Clarke, an eyebrow arched in question.

 

"They're shitty tokens of my affection," she explained, flush brightening her cheeks. 

 

"You know me so well," he drawled, but ducked in for a kiss, too. Just because he could. When he pulled away, Clarke was still a little pink, her lips bee-stung and perfect.

 

"I figured I was doing a shitty enough job telling you how I feel, I might as well lean into it."

 

"And how do you feel?" he asked, determinedly casual. Bellamy thought he knew, but Clarke was nothing if not unpredictable at times. 

 

She turned to him, face serious, but open. "I love you, Bellamy. I've loved you for so long, it seems incomprehensible that I ever  _didn't_ love you. And, if you don't feel the same—"

 

"I do," he assured her, unwilling to see her talk herself into doubting this. Doubting them. "I feel exactly the same."

 

Her responding smile was soft but brilliant. "Yeah?"

 

"Yeah," he murmured, leaning back into her space. He cupped her jaw, thumb sweeping across the smooth skin of her cheek. "Merry Christmas, Clarke."

 

"Merry Christmas, Bell," she whispered against his lips before closing the distance again.

 

If this were a romantic comedy, the camera would pan out and the screen would fade to black. The story would be over. But he and Clarke weren't really meant for the movies. After all, he hadn't gone for his mysterious gift giver and she hadn't fallen for the beautiful, charming stranger staying with her. No, they were much better suited for reality.

 

And right now? Reality was pretty perfect. 

 

 


End file.
